The American is a Cat?
by otakuphiar
Summary: The Briton has had enough with the American nation and he was bloody well going to teach him a lesson! Too bad his spell went wrong and he unknowingly has that very same American under his care... As a cat. Rated T because of a hell of a lot of swearing.
1. Pt 1 - Don't insult an Englishman!

"So, since nobody thinks building a giant robot is a good idea... We need a hero to kick global warming's ass. Since nobody is volunteering, I will be that hero! Russia!"

"Da?" Resonated a soft voice.

"You will be my back-up. Germany!"

"Vhat?" A gruff voice questioned, boredly.

"You will also be back-up. England!"

The Englishman scoffed, before sarcastically replying: "Oh let me guess... Back-up?"

"Haha, how did ya guess, dude?"

The older nation raised an eyebrow at the genuine reply and sighed, not bothered enough to reply, leaving a confused American waiting for an answer.

"Don't worry Amerique, the rosbif is just sexually-deprived," chuckled France, blowing a cheerful kiss to the Briton who was currently glaring over at him.

"You want a fight, you bloody bastard?" The messy-haired man growled, cracking his knuckles and slowly getting red in the face.

"I'll fight you into bed, mon cher~" with that last flirtatious comment, the usual argument erupted.

* * *

Two men currently sat in a small office in the large meeting building, one nursing a throbbing eyelid which was already turning an array of colours, mainly red, purple and brown. The other sat in front of him, smiling care-freely as he held a blue packet of ice in one hand.

"C'mon Iggy-dude, I need to put this on your eye so that the swelling goes down." The American grinned, though concern was laced in his voice.

The other blond huffed dramatically, scowling and pouting slightly he removed his hand from his face, letting it drop down to his side. The younger man chuckled quietly at this and lifted the hand which held the ice.

"I can do it myself..." Mumbled England, looking- with one eye open- everywhere but Alfred's close face. Proudly, America announced:

"I'm the hero, I'm just doing my duty!"

A small smile ghosted on the others lips but left as quickly as it came. You would be confused to hear that to these two this moment was a nice one. It was not often now-a-days that they would hold this long a conversation alone, or that it would even be this civil. Well, it _was_ a nice moment...

"We haven't talked in a while," The Englishman began carefully considering his words. "Would you like to come to my house after this and have a some tea? Oh! I can even make that cottage pie that you used to love!" Alfred's face immediately greened, and before he could control his mouth.

"Yuck, I don't want food poisoning, thanks." 'Well... Shit,' he thought, bracing himself for the barrage of insults.

Arthur's eyes widened with shock and were filled with hurt, it was not a sight you often saw from the proud male, must have hit him hard. It hurt Alfred to see it.

Stuttering, England responded: "I thought you always enjoyed my cooking... You were the only one who didn't insult it!"

America rubbed the back of his head nervously, knowing that there was no salvaging this. "I uh- I never did... Like your cooking?"

Although it was such a minor thing, the Briton could not help but feel like his heart had been smashed into little, tiny pieces. Alfred was the only person who had ever said to have liked his cooking and now it turns out he lied to him the whole time. He wasn't sure what was more hurtful... The fact that his former colony had hid it it for this long, or the fact that he had just lost the last person who would enjoy his cooking. Hiding his face in his pale hands, he ran out of the door, out of the meeting building and into the woods just behind. After-all, England preferred his buildings to be in the countryside than in the city. Who knew it would also be a good escape area?

Meanwhile, the younger nation had his head in his hands and was irritated with himself. He hadn't meant to have let that one slip to his ex-mentor. He didn't actually think that Arthur's cooking was as bad as everyone said it was, but come on... It could be better. The cottage pie was probably the most bearable, drowned in gravy of-course.

Sighing, he got up and in the mind-track of looking for England. Checking out the window of the office, he saw that the other man's Mini Cooper was still sitting in its parking spot and so he raced out to find him.

* * *

"Bloody America, bloody tasteless gits... The lot of them."

Arthur was currently stomping through the woods holding back tears of anger. Groaning loudly, he took a seat in a pile of dead leaves, leaning back to look up at the sky which was slowly turning a beautiful shade of orange and pink. Fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across the skies and birds flew gracefully back to their nests.

He'd had enough, he wanted to teach the American nation a little lesson for being a bastard and lying to him all this time. He found himself grinning evilly, remembering a recent spell he had learnt to make someone uncontrollably speak the truth. That would work. Quickly, he drew a small pentagram into the dirt with a stick he had found nearby and began to chant memorised words. Well, he thought that they were memorised.

"Ah'me tri- tri osono... Ah- aelurus, declinemus aelurus." he murmured, the warm hands of magic snaked around his body, caressing his skin and playing with his hair. Repeating the words, he continued before feeling the magic fleet from his body. Vision blurring at the edges; he decided to sit back down until he caught his bearings.

* * *

"England? England!" The concerned blond called, looking around desperately for the other nation. Truly, he was getting really worried now... It was getting late and there was still no sign of the man. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. Looking over to the nearby woods, he decided to go check over there.

"Englan-" he began to shout out again as he got closer to the trees, but stopped when he felt a surge of energy pulse through his body. He shrieked, before his vision clouded with black dots and he passed out.

**...**

"-ttle kitty, kitty?" There was a pause, "you're not dead are you?"

Slowly Alfred opened his eyes, and saw England's massive face directly in front of his.

"Oh England! Look I'm really sorry and- why the heck is your head so big?!"

"Oh good, you're awake." The British man sighed in relief, his emerald eyes still locked onto Alfred's small form. "You have no collar... You're a stray are you?"

The American wasn't impressed that England was looking down on him, or that he had just ignored his question... When did this 'dude' get so big? Plus, why was he calling Alfred a stray? Like he was some sort of... Cat?

Cautiously, the younger man lifted his 'hands' up to his eyes. To find that he was not holding up hands, but instead small, furry, white paws.

"Well fu-" he began, but was interrupted when he felt large hands hold him under the arms and pick him up. Don't be wrong, Alfred tried to put up a fight but there is really no use when you were a tubby cat. Huffing, the cat was submissive... For now atleast. Right now the American was focused on England, who was currently smiling kindly at him. He found it odd, the Briton hadn't directed a smile at him for such a very long time. Alfred missed that smile.

"I'll take you home, is that alright, poppet?" The Englishman grinned, holding the white and brown cat in his arms as he walked towards his car, whistling his national anthem. Alfred snickered "nationalistic bastard" he muttered, glad that all that came out was a quiet meow. As the cat nation got placed down gently on the upholstered car-seat, he couldn't help but find his situation laughable... However, something told him that staying with his former mentor wouldn't be that bad. Oh well, he was sleepy. Tiredly, Alfred curled up listening to the engine start up and the radio turn on. What came on was a radio station called 'Capital Fm.' Well, he was surprised. Really, he expected some of England's punk music to come on. Not that he was complaining, but maybe this will be a good thing... He could get dirt on Arthur. He chuckled a little, which sounded a lot like Yzma's evil kitten laugh from Disney's 'The Emperor's New Groove'. Slowly, his eyelids slid shut and he sighed out contently. Purring as he felt a hand stroke his ears gently. 'Wow,' Alfred thought, 'I see why cats like this, it's like an tiny orgasm!' Then he widened his eyes, remembering the point.

"Shit, I'm a freakin' cat."

Okay, he was flipping out. Would he be able to go back? 'Oh right, England is into that hocus pocus crap, he could turn me back-' then the lightning bolt of realisation struck him. He couldn't communicate with the Briton, neither did he think the other nation would want to turn him back after what he said to him. "Shit. Shit. Shit-"

Worriedly, Arthur looked over at the cat which was growling and whining loudly. Could cats have motion sickness? Sighing, he just hoped that his other pet wouldn't mind the new addition to the family.

* * *

**So this is the new series I am working on, I was just thinking how cute this would be. Again, my story had no proper update days, it'll just come around. They will come out considerably slower than my other stories as I'm back at school and I'm doing important examinations and getting homework in fluffy, pink parcels from hell. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the prologue. :)**


	2. Pt 2 - Don't wreck an Englishman's home!

**A lot of vulgar language, you have been warned.**

* * *

When Alfred awoke, he sighed in relief.

"Whew, it was just a dream!"

The American got up cheerfully and stretched his- "Oh for fuck sake."

Nope, he was still a feline (and a rather podgy one at that!)

The nation groaned out in frustration, why did _he_ have to become a cat? Why couldn't it have been that commie-bastard or France or anyone else for that matter? It felt like he was in one of Japan's animes, which was kind-of cool but not really. Inhaling in an attempt to calm himself, he wobbled up onto his paws and glanced around. Suddenly, his blue orbs widened remembering that he was in England's house, slowly recalling from memory that this was the Briton's living room. Worrying, Alfred wondered how the hell he would get out of this mess or if he ever would. At that moment, the homeowner walked into the room.

"You're awake now are you?" The Englishman chuckled. "That's good, I would like you to meet someone!" The Briton turned his back to the stressing fur-ball.

"Who?" The cat asked with a quizzical look on his face, but of-course that went unheard to Arthur, who was loudly calling a name.

"Simon, Simon!" Okay, Alfred was 'hella' confused. Like, who the heck is Simon? Alfred's eyes widened, what if it was one of England's imaginary friends? The tension was high, even more so when he heard distant scrabbling that was getting closer and closer. Code Red: England has a monster living with him, please send help. America wanted to cry, he didn't want to test if the nine lives myth was actually true! Desperately, he spun around searching for a place where he could hide, but it was too late.

"Kitty, I would like you to meet-" Alfred's head shot around dramatically, and found himself to be face to face with a snout. "Simon, my dog."

The American's thoughts were filled with: "He calls me an idiot, but he's the one introducing a cat to a dog!" Alfred was as still as a statue, staring into the the brown-eyes of the beast, which to be honest is rather courageous. "Plus, who the hell calls their dog Simon? What even is happening..." (Hint: this guy is confused).

"Um... Hello?" The young nation wanted to face-palm so hard right now, however he couldn't, because that would give the cat guise away to the other blond who was watching the pets so intently. Alfred was literally trying to speak to a dog, the personified United States of America, was trying to have a conversation, with a friggin' corgi.

The dog tilted his furry, golden head in confusion at this.

Oh, Alfred was pissed. He was so, very pissed off and he was about to take this out on an innocent dog that did not understand what he was saying.

"What a stupid, furry, ugly, stupid, dumb, fuckin' do you even-" breathe. "You don't do you? You don't understand what it's like to be a-" breathe. "Fat, fat, fat cat, do you?" You thought it was over? Me too. But no, he was far from finished. "I'm a cat, a freaking cat! Guess what, you're a dog! Hahaha!" The rant went on to be a slurred mess of incoherent self-deprecating jokes. Alfred was going to be insane if this went on. Finally he came to a stop, exhausted by his own depressed state and he slumped back on the sofa tiredly.

"This is going to be harder than I had thought..." Americat meowed, sadly.

Arthur chuckled at his two pets, his grin practically beaming sun-rays. He wasn't sure that his dog would get along to well with his cat and was worried that after taking responsibility over the stray, he would have to re-home it. He was totally ignoring the fact his cat had totally just had a massive temper tantrum, that or he was scarily oblivious.

"I'm glad you two are getting along so well!" England turned on his heel and began to walk towards the doorway, before anxiously looking back on the two; whom were both very still. "I'm going to go cook some dinner... You two be nice to each other, okay?"

And so Alfred was left with a dribbling mutt in his face, let's just say his day wasn't going too good.

"Ugh, how can I be the hero in this situation?"

The corgi abruptly lurched forward, scaring Alfred half-to death. Simon licked his lips with his slobbery, pink tongue. The American reminded himself of the situation, he was a cat... And Simon was a dog.

He found himself chuckling nervously. "N-nice doggie... Nice- nice Simon."

By saying Simon's name he made his situation more dire, because apparently the dog could understand what he was saying, Simon began to wag his little tail and his ears pricked up slightly. No, there was no salvaging this so Alfred did the most heroic thing he could think of at the time... Screaming and running away, heroically.

The cat bounced from sofa to coffee table to curtains to mantelpiece to shelf, not thinking that his actions would encourage the dog more, feeding his playfulness. Forty minutes later, Arthur walked into his living-room with his tray of bangers and mash, not expecting to find his nice, clean room in an absolute state! Setting his tray down on the table, he had a blank-look on his face as he stared down at an exhausted cat and dog; both glancing away guiltily.

"Hello _pets_," the Englishman made sure to emphasise 'pets' it was certainly more of a sickly-sweet snarl. "Now, which one of you made this bloody mess?"

The room was indeed in shambles; curtains were ripped, fine china had fallen from high shelves and smashed onto the floor into little, unsalvageable pieces, picture frames lie on the floor from being pushed off the mantelpiece, a vase was spilt, water flooding across the coffee table and flower petals were littered across the cream carpet.

Blue orbs met brown pebbles, both minds full to the brim with the knowledge of a certain angry Briton. Repressing a shudder, Alfred turned around, deciding to own up to the wreck. He was the hero after-all!

"So, it was you?" The older nation growled.

Nope.

Immediately, America shot back around. Shaking his head at the frightened corgi, they were done for.

* * *

So after a lot of scolding, the all-powerful United States of America found himself locked in a old cupboard. Freedom! (Ha)

"Damn England, damn dog, damn cupboard, damn cat body!" The nation punched the wall in frustration, which was probably not a good idea in his current form. Americat let out a string of curses as he felt pain surge through his paw up into his leg, on reflex he put his paw down onto the floor and found that it hurt like hell. It was safe to say that Alfred had slightly fucked up.

"Just slightly?" He yelled in agony. Wow, I didn't know he could hear me, that's awkward.

"Shut it!" Okay, I'll leave you to your own devices.

...

"Okay... Come back, please." Alfred pleaded like a big baby who had just lost his lollipop.

"Mm, fuck you too." Alfred decided to tuck his paw up and just travel around the cupboard like that till England came back to get him, "I mean c'mon it's a cupboard, there is bound to be lots of junk on England here", is what he thought. He limped around the orderly cupboard; much different to his own cluttered storage closet at home. Beady, blue eyes trailed over a variety of books that were stacked in the corner and focused on a few hung up old military outfits. The cat noted that Arthur's red coat was no where in this cupboard. There were also a lot of boxes with names of England's old colonies written on the side and Alfred presumed that they were probably full of old toys and outfits. Curiously, he padded forward and searched the boxes for his name. Like the coat, his box wasn't there. This made the American frown slightly, it's not like he cared but why was everything from England's and his past gone or at least not in this cupboard?

It made him feel seriously unwanted, although he pushed these feelings away, reminding himself again that he didn't care.

Meanwhile, a certain Brit sat happily in his destroyed living room, wolfing down his "delicious" bangers and mash as he watched Strictly Come Dancing, god how he loved this show. The young man let his mind trail back to America, maybe he shouldn't have used such a harsh spell... No, he wasn't going to regret it now, not after what America had said to him. But then his mind drifted back to his cat, perhaps he had been too harsh to his new pet? Damn, he was such a softie! Sighing, Arthur got up. He let Simon back in from the garden, before making his way over to the cupboard. The Englishman kept telling himself to stop being so soft, he was the bloody United Kingdom! Opening the cupboard, he saw his cat limping around and Arthur ran to his side.

A little bit before on Alfred's side...

Alfred sighed, waiting for the cupboard door to open. England acted tough, but he was soft inside. Sure enough, that door opened and began to walk towards his ex-mentor. But, England had other ideas. He ran up to Alfred's side and picked him up gently.

"Whats wrong, poppet? How did you hurt yourself? Ah, this is all my fault!" Alfred was shocked to see the other nation so upset and he felt himself wanting to hug the older man, yet the American couldn't... Because he was a cat. "I better take you to the vets, thankfully they wouldn't have shut yet." England rushed to get a coat with the podgy cat in his arms, grabbing his keys he ran out after locking up and got into his car.

* * *

"Well, he's going to be alright, just swollen. It's strange, a lot of cats have high tolerance to pain and will only limp if they have a sprain or a broken bone... Your cat seems to have a lower pain tolerance, so keep an eye on him." The vet said, yawning silently. Alfred sighed in relief that he hadn't done something serious, realising he'd have to be more careful in this little body of his.

"Thank-you, I'm sorry have taken up your time." The vet smiled at the man, shaking his head.

"It's no problem, it was best to get his leg checked out. But your cat hasn't been neutered yet." Alfred's head shot up, oh god no. Anything but that! What if he got his body back and... Ah! Arthur, please don't allow it.

"I see, I'll book that for another time." Alfred could not believe his ears, how could England even think of letting them do something so cruel?

As they left the building, Arthur smirked and whispered in his cat's ear.

"I wouldn't let them do that to you, love. Don't worry." America's eyes lit up, England was shining, he was an angel.

"England, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I freakin' love you right now, man!" The cat meowed, graciously.

Arthur chuckled rather cutely, before replying to the grinning cat

"You're very welcome, kitty." Placing the cat in the front passenger seat, the nation remembered something that the doctor had told him. "You're a boy, huh? I just realised you haven't got a name yet. Hm... I would like a name starting with an "A" this time..." It was Alfred's lucky day, let him get his name!

"Arnold?" Fuck no, what's with Arthur's names for pets? So not cute. Alfred hissed angrily. "Oh, you don't like that one? Hm... Arnie?" That's just a shortened version of Arnold! The cat meowed in displeasure. "A- A- Arthur? Wait, shit that's my own name." Alfred wanted to strangle him, how hard is it to name a pet? "Alfie?" That was probably the closest the older nation would get to his name, so the cat meowed happily. Besides, Alfred always wanted England to call him Alfie.

"Okay, Alfie it is!" England smiled, driving home.

* * *

**Bugger! I would like to sincerely apologise for not updating for so long. School has been manic and I've had writers block. The time it took me to upload this has been truly unreasonable and I really hope you can forgive me.**

**Anyway, I would like your opinions on this plot. It's supposed to be humorous but -haha- I'm not funny. My writing is like a shitty pantomime. ****But yeah, this story differs incredibly from my other works... The writing style is totally different, so I really want to know your opinions.**


	3. Pt 3 - Don't let the Englishman know!

_In Washington, D.C., a young male slumps down into a plump sofa-chair and sighs raggedly, he is panicked. Running a hand through his blond, wavy hair he inhales as he pinches the bridge of his nose._

_"Oh Alfred, where have you gotten to?"_

* * *

"Ah, Alfie... We got back pretty late, huh?" England yawned, looking out into the night sky. Stars were dotted across the sky, each glittering fantastically, as-if they were smiling down on the homely cottage. It was a quiet night, especially because of the house being incredibly isolated from anything else. If houses could feel lonely, this one would be in the depths of despair.

Alfred leapt up onto the windowsill to escape the crazy corgi that lunged at the Briton below him, of-course Simon was pretty fat himself and had small legs... So instead of lunging it was more of a throw himself three feet away from his owner's leg.

"Yes, you mad bloody dog, I'll be feeding you now!" The messy-haired Brit chuckled as he hung his coat up onto a hanger and kicked off his shoes. The older nation gave a sideways glance over to the cat, before smiling. "I presume you want some food too?" Alfred hoped that England wouldn't give him any cat food, he wouldn't be able to deal with that. "I hope you don't mind feasting down on some dog food, Alfie!" Well, shit. Alfred wasn't sure which one was worse... Cat or dog food?

The American nation plodded after England, keeping a distance from the excited Corgi who was currently attacking his owner's ankles. Americat hummed in thought, he had always had the strange curiosity of wanting to find out what dog food tasted like and now was his chance without looking like a total weirdo!

Nope. Nope. Nope. Alfred had tasted one chunk of that crap only to find it was completely tasteless. But although being tasteless, the product still managed to taste very gross. Glancing over, he saw Simon happily wolfing his meal down. Sighing, the cat could do nothing but continue eating, as he saw the Englishman out of the corner of his eye, grinning like a madman. The cat didn't realise that his former mentor could be so naïve and soft around pets. It was quite shocking, really. After nibbling the rest of his food away (gagging), Alfred plodded sleepily over to the Briton. He had only just realised how tired he really was. England looked down at him, smiling with sympathy.

"Are you tired, lad?" The nation bent down to pick the cat up gently and cradle him in his arms, this was quite surprising, considering how much the cat weighed. Alfred mewled and yawned cutely, at which he quickly frowned at, heroes aren't cute! "I guess we should get to bed now, I didn't realise how late it had gotten!" As the messy-haired man brought him upstairs, Alfred smelt the familiar aroma of tea and roses on England's clothes. This reminded him of the past and found himself unconsciously nestling further onto his former mentor's chest, listening to his melodic heartbeat.

"I guess you will be sleeping with Simon and I tonight, Alfie." The older man chuckled at his pets who sat on his double-bed, both looking up curiously at their owner. Alfred was afraid to say that he wouldn't mind getting used to this, honestly it was great! (Except for the cat food). Seriously, instead of having his duties he could laze around all day- but then he thought about his people and that all faded. Sighing, the cat looked up from his pudgy paws, to see the Brit undressing.

"A-ah, shit. Don't do that in front of me man, not cool!" Alfred meowed, loudly.

Arthur looked over his bare shoulder at the shrieking cat, before placing a long finger to his plump, cherry lips.

"Sh Alfie, you don't want to wake Si-Si up!" England hushed.

"Si-Si, are you shitting me?" Alfred thought, terribly miffed. Despite Alfred's embarrassment, he couldn't help but stare at the lithe body in front of him. His round eyes traced every scar and muscle of Arthur's body. He had never seen the skin of the Englishman under his clothes, not once. The man had never learnt to swim, so he had never gone swimming or visited the beach in trunks. America's mind drifted, wondering the story behind each scar and who had inflicted it, he wanted to know how such a wounded body could still look so beautiful. The pale skin was illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the window, the cat was mesmerised by how the older personification made even putting on sleepwear look graceful. The Briton left the room to go brush his teeth in the bathroom, leaving Alfred feeling hot on the bed.

"Why do I feel so weird?" Alfred wondered, breathing out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Arthur came from the bathroom and crawled into bed.

"Goodnight Alfie..." England mumbled, sighing in exhaustion. Americat glanced over at the form of the English nation and found himself travelling over to his side. Alfred's eyelids felt heavy and drooped shut, it had been a long day.

* * *

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Mon cher, don't make me kick the door down~"

"Fuck!"

Alfred was jolted awake by the frustrated shout of Arthur, whom after doing so, had quickly shot out of bed and stomped downstairs.

"What is Francey-pants doing here?" Alfred wondered, as he stretched his kitty muscles and yawned. Sleepily, he glanced over at Simon who was still sleeping soundly. Damned heavy sleepers. Curious to the reason why France had come to visit England, he plodded down to where he heard the two were. As he got nearer to the men's conversation, the words became easier to understand.

"What do you mean you can't get a hold of him?" Hm, what was this about, who couldn't they get a hold of? Was it him? Alfred slowed down to a halt, not wanting to disturb the conversation... Despite being a cat.

"Je ne sais pas*, Matthieu just won't pick up the phone!" **(I don't know*)**

Oh, so they still didn't know of his disappearance, seriously? But that didn't matter right now, where was his brother? Despite always forgetting about his twin, he did care deeply for him.

"What time is it in Canada at the moment?" Enquired England, worry laced in his voice.

"Around seven in the morning, but I was trying to get a hold of him all last night too!" There was a pause, Alfred wished he could see what was going on.

"Okay... I'll try calling him." Arthur replied, his accent slicing through the silence. Alfred padded closer to the living-room, until he was stood watching at the doorway.

"What makes you think he will answer you?" The Frenchman asked, a hint of bitterness in his tone. Folding his arms, he looked at the Briton beside him, whom dialled a number.

"Well it's worth a try, isn't it?" The messy-haired blond elbowed the older man in the ribs, passing Francis the phone. "I'm going to quickly get decent, you keep trying to get a hold of him."

* * *

_Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring._

_Damn it, he would have to pick-up, he couldn't deal with this alone._

_Reluctantly, he paced towards the phone._

_Ring-Ring. Ring- beep._

_Rustling his blond hair, rubbing his tired, sore eyes, he answered._

_"Hello, what-"_

_"Matthieu, mon cher! Where have you been? I have been so worried! Do you know how much I have called you and I can't- where have you been, I ah- what, where..." After that came a long stream of panicked French that the Canadian was too fatigued to comprehend._

_"Francis." Matthew interrupted firmly, letting out a ragged sigh._

_"O-Oui?"_

_"Alfred's gone."_

* * *

"What do you mean Amerique's gone?" Francis yelped into the receiver. It had only been one day since the world meeting, surely he had just gone and visited another country... No, Alfred always went home the day after a meeting, the American rarely broke schedule as he would almost always meet with Matthew back at his house to play video games or watch movies. Francis heard a waver in the younger nation's voice as he replied.

"He's just gone, we planned to play a new game he had bought once we had got back, he even wrote it on his hand so he wouldn't forget!"

The Frenchman bit his lip nervously, was the cheery nation really missing and where? He'd have to tell Arthur- no. He wasn't going to involve him in this. He knew how much the English nation worried for the American's sake, as much as he liked to deny it. He'd just have to try to keep it secret. Quietly, he made an enquiry to the location where the other nation was. Matthew told him, pleading him to hurry.

"Okay Matthieu, I'll be over there shortly..." Francis ended the call and put on a big grin as he saw Arthur entering the room, drying his wet locks with a light-green towel.

"So... Did you get a hold of him?" Arthur asked, his eyebrows locked together in concern. The Frenchman gulped, before letting out his obnoxious laugh. "Don't worry yourself, mon cher! He was just a bit sick, so I'm going over to Canada to help him get better."

The other slumped his shoulders in relief, a smile ghosted on his lips before he raised his eyebrows and huffed.

"Don't kill the poor boy like you almost did me that one time!"

"Honhonhon, how rude! I took good care of you, mon lapin. Au revoir!" France ruffled the younger nation's hair, and skipping towards the door. Glancing back, he noticed a plump cat sitting at the Englishman's feet, the cat looked oddly familiar but he shrugged as he left the house.

The long-haired man's charade didn't last long after he stepped out the door, almost immediately his face dropped into a worried frown. Sure, he felt guilty he hadn't told his friend, but still he moved forward with a quick pace... He needed to get to America and fast.

* * *

**Yeah and again, I apologise for not getting this out quicker. A month this took me, whoops. Other people can seem to juggle school and writing, I find that task more difficult so I do apologise.**

**But hey, Francis isn't telling Arthur? Hm... That may not be good in the long run. But once again, I apologise for not getting this out quicker. I'm making chapter plans now, so it's easier to write. Thank goodness! I'm not getting as much feedback as I would like from this, I really want to hear your opinions on the story. If you don't like how it is going so far, let me know so I can help put that in place. You guys help shape my stories, I absolutely love you for it! This chapter wasn't nearly as long as I hoped it would be, but I cut it short in fear of becoming a bore. **


	4. Pt 4 - Don't get an Englishman drunk!

"Okay Matthieu, I'll be over there shortly..." The Frenchman ended the call, before grinning to turn to Arthur, who was drying his golden mane. Alfred looked back on him, nervousness swelling in his chest, as he had heard the conversation.

"So... Did you get a hold of him?" Arthur asked, the cat couldn't see his owner from where he sat, but he could hear the concern in his voice. Alfred's tail drooped, before meowing quietly.

"France, what are you going to tell him?"

There was a small pause that was almost un-noticeable, before France let out a loud, hearty laugh.

"Don't worry yourself, mon cher! He was just a bit sick, so I'm going over to Canada to help him get better." America's eyes widened in surprise, Francey-pants wasn't going to tell England? Alfred glanced quickly over at Arthur's who's shoulders slumped in relief, before huffing out a reply.

"Don't kill the poor boy like you almost did me that one time!"

France ruffled the shorter man's still slightly, damp locks, before skipping past the cat and towards the door. Suddenly, the long-haired man looked back and saw Alfred sitting at Arthur's heels, Alfred looked back. America could see a glint of confusion in the older man's unusually, cold-looking eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had come and the man left with a playful slam to the door.

Alfred glanced up at Arthur, who clicked his tongue and sighed exhaustedly.

"Bloody Francis..." The cat could see that England was worried, the older man was biting his lip and had a far-away look in his forest-green gems.

"Maybe, I should phone Matthew up-" quickly, Alfred had clawed at his owner's trousers and had torn through them.

"Oh, Alfie! That was a very naughty thing to do." Arthur scolded, inspecting the damage. "You shouldn't bloody claw through my things." His brows furrowed as he noticed the cat giving him a cute look.

"I guess I'll have to change these now, I was planning to go out today." Slowly he walked towards the stairs, before turning back to the cat whom was still feigning innocence. "No treats tonight, cat!" Tutting, he made his way to his room.

Alfred let out a breath of relief, he had successfully distracted the other nation from calling his brother. He didn't know why he did, if England had found out he was missing, perhaps England would know some of that hocus-pocus shit he always went on about to change Alfred back. However, Americat couldn't help but feel that France had a reason for not telling the Briton, so decided to prevent his former mentor from calling Matthew. Of course, Arthur would think about it again, Alfred would just need to try as hard as possible not to tell him.

Alfred remembered though, the world meeting would be coming up again soon. What then?

"Alfie, you better not ruin this pair or I swear I will have your guts for garters!"

This time, the older man had come down wearing tight-fitting jeans and a baggy-green shirt. The American found himself gazing at the man in surprise, the older looking incredibly attractive in the outfit, and unknowingly licked his lips, feeling a hell of a lot hotter than usual.

"Simon? Simon!" The corgi bounded into the living-room, quickly after Alfred had escaped to higher ground. "I'm off now, pet, be a good boy and don't wreck the house like you did last time. That includes you, Alfie!"

The door shut behind Alfred's owner and the cat heard muffled voices, the cat leapt over to the window out of curiosity and watched England get into a taxi with someone else, he just couldn't see who. Alfred clicked his tongue in irritation, before jumping down from the windowsill. Optimistically, he reminded himself that Arthur would be back soon. Suddenly, he felt a hot breath on his furry cheek and his hackles rose. Shit.

"I forgot about you." Slowly, he turned his head to come face-to-face with Simon. Grinning nervously, he patted the excitable corgi on the head with a pudgy paw. "Bye-bye now!" And Alfred shot off down the hallway with a high-pitched shriek, playful barking following closely behind.

* * *

It had seemed like days had gone past when Arthur finally returned. The cat had finally found high ground from the hyperactive dog, that had given up and had curled up to sleep on the sofa nearby, and was now waiting for his owner to arrive. Alfred's ears pricked up when he heard the sound of close-by giggling and yelling, before the door slammed open and had scared him senseless. When he had finally calmed his racing heart and ragged breath, he peered down from the shelf where he sat to see England being carried by Prussia who was struggling to keep the drunken Brit safety on his back.

"Would you calm down, the awesome me will drop the not-so awesome you if you keep wriggling!" Growled the Prussian, however voice still laced with amusement.

"London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down~" sung the Englishman childishly, making Alfred want to chuckle at how well that rhyme worked. "London bridge is falling down, my fair- oof!" London Bridge didn't fall down, but the blond-haired drunk did.

"Totally not awesome, Inselaffe, the awesome me needs to get you into bed- Ah, that sounds wrong!" Prussia chuckled and reached down to hoist the giggling nation up. "C'mon, you need some sleep. It's the world meeting tomorrow and West will murder me if you don't come in tomorrow."

Alfred's eyes widened, the world meeting! England would surely find out that the American nation had gone missing during the meeting... How would he react?

"Wait, why am I worrying?" Alfred thought, "it's not like he would care at all! He didn't even have a box of my old things... Not that I care."

"Build it up with wood and clay, wood and clay, wood and clay. Build it up with wood and clay, my fair lady!" The song was fading away from Americat when he noticed that the pair had already vanished, quickly he caught up to them and found the Albino carrying Arthur into his room.

* * *

"Wood and clay will wash away, wash away, wash away. Wood and clay will wash away, my fair lady~" Gently, Gilbert pulled off Arthur's shirt and jeans whilst the other man kicked off his shoes. It was never easy for the ex-nation to do this, it was getting increasingly difficult to do this whenever England got drunk with him. As Gilbert laid the blond into bed, the British nation's singing had turned into tired humming and he watched as Arthur's eye-lids drooped.

"What is the awesome me going to do with you?" Gilbert let out a quiet chuckle before tucking the now sound asleep Englishman in. He watched him for a while, before gently singing where the drunk's humming had left off.

"Suppose the man should fall asleep, fall asleep, fall asleep, suppose the man should fall asleep? My fair lady..." Slowly, he bent down to stroke the soft bangs away from the Brit's forehead and pressed a kiss there.

Alfred watched from the doorway, he was shocked at what had just happened. Prussia never acted that way usually, plus he had kissed Alfred's former mentor! Something swirled in the nation's chest, something that made his heart tight. It hurt.

"I didn't know Arthur had got a new pet..." Prussia said, looking down at the pudgy cat. Before Alfred had knew it, he was picked up and carried outside of his owner's room. "Sorry little buddy, I had him out all day. I guess you are hungry." Alfred guiltily remembered that he had found a box of biscuits and had greedily eaten them all up, so wasn't actually that hungry. The older man took Alfred to the kitchen and fed him some tuna that he had found in the fridge.

"You remind me of someone I know, but you are just a cat... I wonder why." Alfred looked up from the fish that he was eating to see the Prussian staring down at him in deep thought, something that you did not often see from the usually playful ex-nation. "Oh well, I'm sure it's nothing."

"Why can't Iggy recognise me, damn it? Even Prussia can vaguely recognise me!" Thought Alfred.

Gilbert got up quickly, and petted the cat. Waving to Simon who had slept through the whole thing and was now blearily walking into the room.

"I'll be off now, take good care of your awesome owner, guys!" Alfred was surprised by the man once again, not often did he refer to someone other than himself as awesome. As the cat watched the man drive off, through the window heremembered about the meeting tomorrow. Alfred knew he wouldn't be able to stop the English nation from going, nor would he be able to stop anyone from telling him. Alfred was, once again, powerless. Slowly, he made his way up to Arthur's bedroom to see Simon already sprawled out across the bed in his land of dreams, Alfred let out a small chuckle before jumping up and finding himself a comfortable spot on Arthur's head. A menacing grin pulled at his lips and imagined how his "owner" would react to feeling a heavy ball of fur on his head. Looking down at the Englishman's sleeping face, Alfred noticed little things that he had never really noticed before. He could see the light brown freckles that adorned England's nose, a faint scar on his lip where he used to have a piercing and his cheeks were slightly rosy. Alfred smiled gently, before letting his eye-lids slide shut... Choosing to forget about tomorrow and let whatever happened come. He was carefree like that. Well, I say that I mean he's not really carefree is he, woe is him, he is in such a desperate situation, he's a cat he gets to sleep all-day. Boo-Hoo! Alfred opened one eye to glare at nothing, he thought himself to be going insane.

Oh look, you're not being carefree-

"Shut up, your just the narrator. This is my story!" Cried Alfred like a pathetic baby, making the man below him mumble and fidget.

"I did not cry like a pathetic baby!" Sobbed Alfred, again like a pathetic baby.

"Go away!"

If only the cat knew what tomorrow would bring...

* * *

**Hello, I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long. First, I would like to thank everyone who supported me for my break because of my cat's sudden death. It was actually the first time I lost a pet, so thank-you for sticking by me. The main reason I haven't updated for so long is that my stress levels have been high, so much so that I had to get some blood tests done. But I am back, it's been Christmas, what did you guys get? (P.s. I know the London Bridge rhyme off by heart).**

**Inselaffe= Island Ape, a term used by Germans that refer to the British.**


	5. Sorry

Hello, this is important so please read.

I'm sorry to say that I'm not totally sure about completing this story. I'm so frustrated as I know how annoying that can be to a reader. But I have some choices for you.

1) I can complete this, however updates will take long periods as I am not interested in the story anymore.

2) I can stop this, and give you a basic idea of how it was going to end so you can feel a slight sense of closure.

3) I can stop this, and not give you an idea of what would have happened so you don't feel angry that I didn't complete it.

Again, I'm sorry that I'm doing this. The time I lost interest was most likely when my cat was killed and it was just the wrong time to do a story with a cat in. It stresses me out to constantly get writer's block, I often get it.

Now if you want me to stop straight away, I don't think I'll be writing any more fanfiction for a while, or even reading it. I've got to the point where it has gotten a bit boring for me. Sure, fanfiction writers can be and are most of the time fantastic at writing... But I really have lost my writing skills recently due to not reading harder writing in novels, so I want to stick to that.

So if you want this finished now, which would possibly be better than me updating due to it probably lacking greatness, I would like to bid you farewell from me for a while or forever. Please keep up the good work, readers and writers!


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